


My Nemesis is an Ugly Bastard!

by Automatonation



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Mind Control, OC main character, POV First Person, Public Nudity, Public Sex, SEP Field Shenanigans, Stuck in the wall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Automatonation/pseuds/Automatonation
Summary: Waking up with no memories in a strange place is tough.At least the brand new body and superpowers make up for it.Oh, and the bitches.Can't forget the bitches.This is a shameless porn fic, focusing around mind control, with other fetishes and tags to come.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

“Five more minutes…” I groan, rolling over and groping for my blanket. It’s colder than I like, but I haven’t heard my alarms yet, so I still have time before… something. My hands land on cold, crinkling paper, and with a squeal of distressed springs, the mattress underneath my shoulder collapses, rolling me onto cold, rough pavement. “The fuck?” I blurt, my eyes popping open. As I blink away sleep scum, my brow furrows. I could swear that I didn’t fall asleep in an abandoned, heavily graffitied, parking garage. Although…. Where did I go to sleep? I have a vague impression of expecting an alarm, but not why. Huh. Well, no point worrying about that.  
  
I push myself to my feet, the cool air tickling at my skin. I frown. Why am I naked? Glancing down, I blink in shock. Well, that’s new. Or, I think it’s new. I have muscles. Lots of muscles. All the muscles. More muscles than an oyster bed on steroids. I take a pose, some instinct I didn’t know I had making each individual slab of meat tense and dance. Noice. Looking down past my _rippling_ pectorals, I feel a broad grin grow on my face. VERY nice. That’s almost certainly new. I’m fairly certain I would remember having a cock that puts Pringles cans to shame, but then, well, I can’t quite remember much of anything at the moment. Memories vs Schlong of doom? I’ll take the long johnson, thank you. Can’t remember what I’ve forgotten, anyway.  
  
I stretch, feeling each vertebra pop and release in a chain down my spine, and grin, before running my fingers over my head. Bald, figures. Eh, tradeoffs. It’s dim in here, dawn light peeking between the garishly tagged concrete pillars around the edge of the parking lot. Looks like I woke up in a little hobo camp, a saggy old mattress covered in old newspapers, next to a shopping cart full of canned goods and a rusty oil can with the charred remains of a wooden pallet, more battered planks lying nearby. I don’t think this was my spot…  
  
Shrugging, I rummage through the shopping cart and fish out a can of corned beef hash and a battered skillet, and an hour later, I am happily eating fatty, greasy goodness, straight out of the pan, sitting cross-legged on the mattress, while slurping at a bottle of lukewarm water. Food, shelter, water. It’s not much, but it’s liveable. A foundation for something more. It’s an odd feeling, being content with the tiniest things, because you can’t really remember having it any better, knowing that every direction that you go is up. I don’t even really miss the lack of clothes. I’m not cold, my feet aren’t bothered by the rough pavement, and what do I have to be ashamed of? Why, it’s practically **reasonable for me to be naked**. I feel something inside me twist, like a key in a latch, and my mouth splits in a broad smile. Yes, this will do nicely.  
  
“Well, I think it’s time for a stroll.” I rumble, my voice coming out as an ultra-bass growl, each syllable harsh and grating, unpleasant to the ear. Well, that’s less good. I don’t like that. A series of instinctive vocal exercises and muttered phrases leave me frowning in disgust. I could swear I used to have a nice voice, but now it’s just this… It’s not even a pleasant villain’s voice! I could deal with something deep and buttery smooth, but it sounds like I gargled rocks with a razorblade chaser, like I’m the thuggish henchman in a cartoon. “Fuck.” I spit. At least my new voice is good for swearing. Ah well, nothing I can do. Might as well go for a walk, like I was originally planning on. Rolling my shoulders, I amble towards the ramp at the end of the parking garage. Time to get an idea of the lay of the land.  
 **  
  
**  
The land is a shithole, as it turns out.  
  
It’s apparently too early for most people to be out and about in the abandoned warehouse district, but I can hear the sound of the sea, the cry of gulls. Battered walls and boarded up warehouses are covered in competing gang tags, the newest ones variations on a stylized ‘M’ with a pair of vertical lines, like a dollar sign. I see the occasional signs of habitation, a homeless man or two, before ambling past a battered old prostitute whose eyes lit up when her eyes trailed down my body. I return the favor and give her a once over, taking in sagging tits and an emaciated potbelly pouring through fishnet like a supermarket ham, hanging over a miniskirt that did little to complement skinny, stick-like legs in teetering scuffed heels. It’s my first encounter with the female of the species, and I’m not terribly impressed.  
  
She grins gummily at me, adjusting her bright red wig. “Unless you’re packing a five in your prison wallet, y’ain’t getting nothin’ from me.”  
  
I grin in response, and she recoils slightly, shaking her head. “Not looking to buy.” I rumble, and the old hooker’s eyes harden. A switchblade appears in her hands out of nowhere, as if by magic, and I can’t help but chuckle. “Ain’t looking at all, right now.”  
  
“Not the first uppity john I’ve stabbed.” She mutters, before vanishing the switchblade. “You all right? Mostly the naked ones are more beat up. Or dead. Somebody roll ya?”  
  
“Don’t remember.” I reply tersely, passing her on the sidewalk. She falls in beside me in a wobbling mince, the stiletto heels clattering on the pavement. Not getting a lot of business, if she’s wasting her time on me. Funny how I can remember how prostitution works.  
  
“That bad?” Her eyes flit over me from head to toe, then back up, snagging each time on the salami swinging like a pendulum between my legs. “You… You know you don’t look right?” Her voice is tentative, a bit less harsh.  
  
I glance back over at her, before looking down at my blunt-fingered hands again. Now, in the sunlight, I can tell that there’s something… off. My skin is a pale tannish color, nominally flesh-tone, but it’s utterly uniform, no hair, no wrinkles, no variations in texture or tone. I make a fist, and it stretches smoothly over each walnut-sized joint, only to relax again into perfect smoothness when I relax my grip. Turning my hands over, my lips quirk in a smile. No fingerprints. “Yeah.” I grunt.  
  
“Not seen a mirror yet, huh?” I bristle at the pity in the old hooker’s tone, and shoot her a glare. She flinches back. “Sorry, sorry.” The knife is clenched tightly in her fist again, and after a tense moment, I shake my head. “just… You hear things.” The prostitute tucks away her knife again – this time I see it vanishing into a pocket in her denim miniskirt – and she turns to me. “You can call me Mayflower.” Another gummy grin. “Old enough the pilgrims rode in on me, eh?”  
  
I chortle, the laugh coming out as a sinister rumble that echoes off the boarded-up buildings on either side of the road. “Call me…” I don’t know my name. I can see the pity in Mayflower’s eyes, and I despise it. I’m not someone to be _pitied._ “Brutus.” I finally grumble.  
  
“Nice.” Mayflower drawls. “Well, you ain’t using your Brutus on me unless you pay double. I’m not going to the clinic needing stitches again without a good reason.”  
  
“It would fit.” The words slip out as a statement of fact. I **know** it would fit, that I could slam my bitch-breaker into any hole, and they would eagerly accommodate it, the laws of biology and space bending to my whim, as is proper.  
  
“Sure it would, sure it would.” She doesn’t believe me, and I have to choke down on the irrational rage that swells inside me. “Sorry, kid, but I’ve been hooking for forty years, and I know exactly what’s too big, and what ain’t. No reason to get all pissy about it.”  
  
“Sorry,” I grunt. It’s ok. She doesn’t **know** like I do. I blink. I could make her know. Teach her. Show her her place in the world, let everyone see her place. A slow grin starts to crease my broad features, and Mayflower starts backing away.  
  
“H-hey, Brutus, don’t be getting any ideas. I’m a workin’ woman, all you gotta do is cough up a little, and I’ll give it a try.”  
  
No, she’s been nice enough to me. Pulled her knife a few times, sure, but it’s tough being an old whore. “Sorry. I’ll just move along.” Before I can change my mind, I break into a gentle jog, bare feet slapping on the sidewalk. Maybe I can find someone else. Someone who deserves the **revelations** I can bring. “Thanks for the company.”  
  
“Any time.” Mayflower croaks. I ignore her final mutter of “Scary naked bastard.” No point in getting worked up over the ugly ones.  
 **  
  
**  
Thirty minutes at a light jog leaves me feeling refreshed and energized, meandering through a working-class shopping district, little mom and pop stores and restaurants, the buildings rustic and a little bit dilapidated, but still well-cleaned and cared for. The entire place reeks of earnest near-poverty, of businesses teetering on the brink of collapse, held up by spit and hard work. It’s busier now, and the thought occurs to me that I don’t even know what day it is. As it is, I keep drawing the eyes of people passing by, and while it’s obvious that they don’t particularly care about my nudity… I’m still upsetting, somehow. The way the eager glances that dance over my muscles and coax my cock into stirring in pride vanish into disgust and fear when they see my face is… infuriating.  
  
Slowing from my jog, I spot my reflection in a storefront window. Pure white eyes glare out from under a heavy, sculpted brow. Not sculpted like my physique, unfortunately, more like they were crudely shaped out of clay. My features are coarse and blunt, a broad, heavy jaw and cheekbones that frame a blunt swell of a nose and a wide mouth with thin, almost non-existent lips. I snarl, and blunt, square teeth gleam in my reflection. My skin is the same featureless pale tan as the rest of me, with one notable exception. A thick, black, U-shaped tattoo graces the crown of my heat, resembling a balding head of hair, emphasizing my low brow. I’m… I’m hideous. Like I was designed by a committee who was told to make someone who looked strong and scary.  
  
The door to the store jingles and opens, and a slender woman with blonde hair steps out. She bites her lip, fingers clenching the side of her apron – emblazoned with the name of the shop, Lazy Day Donuts and Bakery. “Sir, I understand that you…” She pauses, obviously trying to find the right words. “May not be able to make any purchases at the moment, but could you please not make faces in the window?” I level a glare at her. “You’re…” She gulps, and I get a thrill of glee as her face blanches when she realizes that I tower more than a foot over her head. “You’re scaring my customers.” Her final sentence comes out as a terrified squeak.  
  
Scaring the customers. I’m scaring the customers. _Fuck_ her. Actually… My eyes trace over the woman in front of me. Amber, according to the badge pinned to her polo shirt. She’s slender, but her tits are a nice handful, and while she’s got a little bit of a muffin top, her hips are nice and wide, stretching the fabric of her khakis. “You **Shameless Whore**.” I rumble, and I can see the gleam in her eyes as I reveal to her the truth of who she is.  
  
Amber’s face twists from the rictus of fear and embarrassment into the lewdest grin I have ever seen, a calculated promise of pleasure. “I can make it worth your while… for the inconvenience.” Taking a step forward, the donut shop clerk reaches up and trails her fingers down the crevasse between my pectorals, biting her lip as she traces the contours of my abs down to my waist, my cock swelling and rising to meet her. “I suppose I can give you a little sample. It’s what I do in my other business.”  
  
Strong fingers drag along my cock, not even able to close entirely around the width of my shaft. Amber drops to her knees, staring down the barrel of my throbbing prick. She licks her lips, and grabs my cock with both hands, slowly stroking it up and down. “I’ve never seen anyone this big before.” She giggles.  
  
I’m starting to draw some attention, frowns and mutters from people passing by. A lady across the street is getting out her phone. That won’t do. **I have every right to get a handjob in public.** The crowd relaxes, and all the woman across the street does is snap a quick picture of me, before giggling and moving on.  
  
Amber puckers up, and presses a light kiss to the fat mushroom head of my cock, stroking faster. “C’mon, baby, let me show you what I can do.” I grin, reveling in the sensation of her talented hands, wringing and tugging at my prick, clear precum oozing over her fingers as she strokes faster and faster.  
  
“FUCK!” I rumble, feeling my balls churn. “Take it! Take my load like a **Thirsty Cumslut**!” With a gasp and a moan, Amber latches onto my cock and starts sucking down my precum like she just ran a marathon, and I don’t bother holding back the explosion of jizz that erupts into her moaning mouth, her tongue lashing under the head of my prick as she gulps, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of thick cum, the excess spilling out around her lips as my orgasm slowly trails off after nearly a minute.  
  
Amber pulls away, cheeks bulging, before swallowing with a loud gulp and wiping the trails of jizz that trickle down her chin with her fingers, before popping them into her mouth. “Mmmm…. Thank you, I love your cream filling.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief and lust. “Just what I needed.” I half expect to go soft, but my prick does little more than bob before swelling again.  
  
“Doesn’t look like you’re done.” I growl, and grab her head with one massive hand. Her mouth falls open in shock, and I fill it with cock, her jaw going wide as I cram the thick crown inside, her teeth grazing pleasantly against the flared edges before I pull her further down. My prick batters at the back of her throat, and I slam through her gag reflex, watching her neck bulge and her jaw practically unhinge as I hammer fourteen inches of meat down her throat. It shouldn’t work. It works anyway. Fuck biology, I’m fucking her face. Amber is sobbing, makeup running, one hand clawing uselessly at my hip as her other grabs and twists at her breasts through her shirt and apron. I pull back – no point choking her to death – and slam back to the hilt, balls slapping against her chin.  
  
This is what I needed. Fuck beauty. Fuck grace. Fuck it all, I’m built like a brick shithouse, **hung like a horse, and I have a right to use it**. Grabbing Amber’s hair in both hands, I use her like a toy, jerking myself off with her mouth as she moans and sobs in pleasure, hands under her clothes and mauling herself as she _begs_ for another load.  
  
“Nice cumslut you’ve got there.” A man in a dark grey suit comments as he comes up around me. “I’ve thought about giving her a load or two myself.” I glance over at him, before looking down at Amber as I grind her face onto my groin, streaks of her subtle lipstick smearing over my pale flesh.  
  
“Yeah, why not. She’s **free for public use today**.” I reply, feeling Amber’s new truth ripple out into the world. She moans incoherently around my cock, and I let the rippling of her throat coax another orgasm out of me, shot after shot of hot cum pouring into her stomach. I pull out after I’m done, and the woman slumps forward, gasping for breath, her ass rising into the air. The man in the suit wastes no time in unbuckling her belt and pulling her slacks down around her knees, along with her sensible pale blue panties. I eye her curves with mild interest. I mean, I could definitely go for another round, hell, something tells me I could go indefinitely. I didn’t even really lose my erection after my second load, but… Well, this guy said he was interested in her before, so I might as well let him have a go. “Have fun.”  
  
As the businessman kneels behind Amber, fumbling at his zipper, I kneel to wipe off my cock on her hair, before patting an unstained portion with a gentle “Good girl.” It comes out harsh and patronizing, and I scowl. Still hate that. The man in the suit slams his cock home with a groan, and a middle-aged jogger trots up, stepping around me to prop up the brand new public whore on her hands so he can make use of her mouth. Yep, looks like I’ve done my good deed for today. I start jogging away, before slapping my brow and turning around to ask a quick question.  
  
“Hey, what city is this, by the way?”  
  
“Ugh! Fuck…” The man in the suit groans with a final thrust as he unloads inside Amber. “Didn’t you know you were in Brockton Bay?”  
  
“I do now. Thanks.” Brockton Bay. How the hell does that give me a sense of foreboding when I can’t remember anything in the first place?


	2. Chapter 2

“Delicious!” I rumble, smacking my lips. Fresh sushi really is the best. The presentation of the meal just makes it even tastier. I twirl my chopstick expertly around my thick fingers, before picking up another roll from its spot obscuring the crinkled brown nipple of the petite Japanese girl, lying on the table in front of me, before dipping it delicately in the pool of sauce in her navel. _]Scrumptious_.  
  
A waitress steps up beside the booth, giving me a nervous smile. “Is everything to your liking, sir?” It’s funny the kind of mental hoops people go through to rationalize their actions, after declaring that **I deserve a free meal.** I am not certain who the staff at this little sushi shack thought I was, or represented, but I am not one to decline the most expensive platter on the menu, especially when I was expecting one of the cheaper options. And when the petite waitress brought out the plate and asked if there was anything else she could do for me? How could I resist making her my **serving platter**? I brush my thick fingers through the tangle of soft black hair at the junction of my tender little plate’s legs, watching the trails of sauce and few remaining bites of sushi tremble as she shudders at my touch. She’s getting a little moist now, the exposure must be getting to her. I wonder if it’s time for _dessert_ yet?  
  
As I savor the last pieces of sushi and slowly scoop up trails of artistically drizzled cream off her taut, trembling belly, I’m interrupted by a bell ringing over the door and a babble of curt Japanese. I look up from the tasty little dish in front of me and frown as I see a group of four burly Asian men in ill-fitting suits, flanking a taller man wearing khaki slacks and a white sleeveless tank top. Why he’s wearing a metal mask, I’m not sure, but it’s intricately crafted to resemble a snarling dragon, which matches the colorful tattoos crawling down both arms. I instantly feel a bit of tattoo envy. The hostess goes pale when she sees the men, and her eyes dart to me, then back to the masked man in front of her. She trembles and nearly falls, before going into a curled bow, that has her nearly curled up, face almost on the floor, babbling streams of terrified Japanese pouring out of her mouth.  
  
Oh. Oops. Is he the owner? Eccentric fellow, if he has a mask like that, but I suppose he would be one who could eat for free. Well, he can consider it a charitable contribution then. The group of men looks over at my table, and I cover my mouth before letting out a tremendous belch. The masked man’s eyes visibly narrow under the eye sockets of the snarling dragon, and he strides over to me, swelling with indignation. Well, let’s see how he acts when I’m his **social superior**. The man falters mid-step, but slows, giving me, and then the girl lying motionless on the table in front of me, a careful inspection. I don’t like how he’s standing. This must be the rudest asshole on the planet if that’s how he treats his superiors.  
  
“Do you know who I am?” The masked man growls.  
  
I give him a polite smile. “You are the man interrupting my after-lunch entertainment.” As an emphasis, I give my platter’s tit a nice rough squeeze, a muffled moan erupting from her mouth before it’s hurriedly stifled.  
  
His fists clench. “You are no superior to me.” Oh? **Best Friend** , then. The man snarls, and visibly grows a couple of inches taller. “Master.” He snarls.  
  
“Only to the ladies in my life, sorry.” I retort, frowning. This… isn’t great. “I’m sorry for bothering you. This place has excellent sushi, you should be proud.”  
  
“You ate… my lunch.”  
  
Yup, he’s definitely bigger. Is that smoke curling out of his mouth? Nasty habit. New tactic: Maybe it would help if I was **not worth the effort**?  
  
The dragon-masked man shrinks a little, before shaking his head, his eyes narrowing as he shoots up a solid six inches in height. “I am Lung, fool. No slight against me goes unpunished.”  
  
AAAAND I’m gone. “Well, I am finished with my meal, so I will get out of your hair.” I grin charmingly, and stand up, moving to slide around Lung. He moves, swelling further so that he looms over even my impressive height – although I note with pride that I am far more built than he is. At this distance, I can feel heat radiating off of him, and see specks of flame gleaming in the depths of his eyes.  
  
“No.” He reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder, and I barely keep from screaming as I feel my flesh searing. I smell like bacon. I don’t want to smell like bacon!  
  
“OK, gottago bye!” I yelp, and turn, trying to run, but he’s got me cornered by the booth. I want **OUT**! With a sudden surge of instinct, I turn towards the exterior wall and dive **through** it, the brick wall flowing around me like water. I tuck into a roll and come out in a run in the alley, before informing the world that I’m **unimportant**. As much as it may chafe my ego, Running through several more walls and a disgusting dumpster that thankfully doesn’t leave any residue on me leaves me a comfortable distance away, before I drop into a jog and crane my neck to peer at my shoulder. Lung’s handprint is a nasty burned red, but it’s visibly healing. Still hurts, though. The bastard. Gotta find a way to get him back.  
  
I turn around a corner between two buildings and spot a small park, just a couple of blocks away. Grumbling to myself at the twinge in my shoulder, I jog my way towards the park, ignoring the casual looks from the people I pass on the street. Throwing myself down on a park bench, which creaks under my weight, I cross my legs and scowl at nothing in particular. How the hell did Lung ignore my power? I rest my chin on my palm and think for a long moment. It takes embarrassingly long to realize that I never actually tried to change him, just myself. And it may have been foolish to try changing my tactics while he was paying attention to me. I sigh deeply. Fuck. I guess things are more dangerous to me than I thought.  
  
“Excuse me, sir?” A husky contralto breaks me out of my funk, and I look up. And up. Yowza. The amazonian dark-skinned woman standing in front of me is nearly as tall as I am, standing with her fists on her hips, the pose emphasizing the strength of each toned muscle. She’s wearing a teal leotard stretched tight over chiseled abs, the high-waisted cut of the leotard emphasizing the length of her muscular thighs and wide, womanly hips. Her chest is emblazoned with a stylized ‘T’ made from Celtic knotwork, emphasizing her muscular, but otherwise fairly small chest, and the long sleeves stretch tightly over the muscles her sculpted arms. If it weren’t for the disappointing fact that she’s not showing any nipple or cameltoe, I’d swear she was in body paint. I let my gaze slowly travel up her body to the half-mask covering the upper portion of her face, but not concealing the faint blush on her cheeks, or the plush lips that have my cock aching to stretch them wide open. “Sir, are you all right?” The heroine – and could she be anything other than a heroine or a themed exotic dancer, dressed like that – turns her head slightly, letting her vast mane of curly black hair bounce in a faint breeze. I _need_ her.  
  
“Honey, you just made my day.” I drawl, and get to my feet.  
  
Brown eyes lock onto my dick like a targeting system. The faintest tip of a pink tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth for an instant, before she shakes her head. “Sir, you are aware that there are laws against public nudity?” she shifts her weight, the muscles in her legs rippling.  
  
God, I want to get a feel of those. I spread my hands, fingers tingling like they’re suddenly full of condensed energy. Let’s have a little fun, shall we? Lady, I think you are going to be **Gullible** for a while, and it’s **acceptable for me to be nude in public**.  
  
“I was able to get an exception,” I explain. “I’m too big, you know. Clothing chafes terribly.” The heroine’s eyes dart back down to my dick and back up. Yeah, that’s the way.  
  
“I can understand that. I’m Titania, Protectorate ENE.” She sticks out a hand for me, and some part of me recoils at just shaking it like she was my equal. It’s all I can do to suppress the sneer, but the part of me that remembers the nasty burn that Lung gave me, only a few minutes ago, has me feeling… cautious.  
  
“Brutus,” I state, a little cooly, and she stands awkwardly holding out her hand for a moment, before lowering it to rest by her side. “Forgive me if I don’t shake your hand. The last person who touched me gave me a nasty burn.” I smirk. “I’m going to leave a bad review for his sushi shop. Terrible customer service.”  
  
Titania blinks, obviously confused. My hands tingle, and I move one in an arc that intersects with her lush booty. For a split second, I see a transparent spectral hand appear out of thin air, before slapping her ass with a loud _crack_ and sending a ripple across her delicious flesh. Titania yelps and spins, finding nothing, but showing me her magnificent posterior in its full glory, barely contained by spandex, the back of her leotard cut nearly three-quarters of the way down her back and contained by elastic straps. She turns back towards me, snarling angrily. “You moved, did you do that?”  
  
Time to test **gullible** out. “No, I thought I saw a bug, but it flew away.” Lamest. Excuse. Ever.  
  
“Oh.” Her face twists for a moment, then relaxes. “Ok. I’ll report it later. Not the first time I’ve dealt with an invisible creep.” Yup. Working fine.  
  
“Honestly, I feel a little out of place. I’m not wearing anything, and you have that costume on. I think I’d be much more comfortable if you took it off.” Test two. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone holding up a cell phone, taking video.”  
  
Titania frowns. “We have masks for a reason. Haven’t you heard of the unwritten rules?” Girl, if you think that wearing a mask is going to keep people from matching the chocolate amazon in street clothes with the chocolate amazon in spandex, you’re dumber than you look.  
  
“I understand.” I lie. “You can keep the mask on.” And now you’re an **exhibitionist**. The blush that never fully disappeared darkened her cheeks further. Titania shifts her weight again, her legs getting closer together, and I lick my lips as I glance at the triangle of teal cloth between those muscular pillars, a tingle shooting through my tongue. The heroine jumps, her hands darting in front of her, and I get a taste of feminine sweat.  
  
“Brutus, I?” Titania pauses, and puts her hand to her ear, her eyes narrowing. “Brutus, are you assaulting a parahuman officer of the law?”  
  
Fuck the slow tactic. “Yes, you **Stupid cunt**.” I growl, and reach out with both hands, spectral copies grabbing at the neck of her costume and ripping it down, letting a pair of shapely apple-sized tits bounce free, chocolate kiss nipples tightening in the cool air.  
 **  
**  
I was not prepared for the heroine to suddenly double in size and grab my arm, before hurling me across the park.  
 **  
**  
After tumbling to a stop at the base of a relatively convenient berm, I get to my feet, groaning at a dozen minor aches and pains, just in time to step out of the way of a descending hammer blow. Fuck this. I’m **Unpredictable** , she **thinks sex is combat**. The giantess shakes her head, before scowling at me. “Out of my head!”  
  
Great, and it doesn’t work on her either. My eyes drift to the crotch of her leotard, which stayed the same size, even when its occupant expanded, resulting in a tightly clinging scrap of fabric that doesn’t conceal a single fold or petal of her double-sized cunt. Nice. I lunge in, taking Titania by surprise, and give the bitch a rising uppercut to the clit with all my considerable strength. She howls, tumbling backward, and I grab the fabric with my spectral hands and rip it away, leaving her bare. Titania lands heavily on her ass, legs spread, and I lap at her cunt with my ghost tongue, before licking my lips. “Delicious.”  
  
“What are you doing?” She asks, scrambling backward on her hands and feet. It feels _nice_ , having a woman scramble away from me in fear. After all, I’m **terrifyingly attractive**. Titania’s nipples, the size of plums at her current scale, tighten into diamond-hard crinkles, and I can see arousal dribbling from the folds of her flushed pussy. Her face, though, is pale, and she edges backward again, growing larger and larger as I advance. I get a fleeting urge to climb inside the expanding gash in front of me, but set it aside. “Are you... Are you gonna?” She stammers dully, before trailing off. I can’t tell if it’s with hope or dread.  
  
I **must be obeyed.** “Shrink. NOW.” I order, and the terrified woman in front of me diminishes to a petite little thing, barely five feet tall and swimming in the stretched, tattered remains of her costume, but still muscular and toned, with a hell of an ass. “You’re going to take my cock, to make up for what you did to me.” I reach the heroine and lift her with both hands, fingers easily meeting around her petite waist, despite the firm muscles I can feel in her core.  
  
“NO!” Titania yelps, and shoves me away, her still-superhuman strength ripping her out of my grasp, leaving the scraps of her costume behind. She runs towards a free-standing public toilet made of beige-painted cinderblocks. I follow her with a lunge, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her back towards me. The nude heroine nearly does a half-flip from momentum, her feet going out from under her, and I grab her wrists with my other hand before slamming her **through** the cinderblock wall. Once again, the material flows like water around my arms, but Titania goes with them, and when I pull my hands back, she’s trapped.  
  
I chuckle. The stupid bitch is stuck halfway through the wall, hands clenching at nothing behind her back, ass shaking as she kicks and struggles. I can hear her screaming inside the bathroom, swearing angrily, but she doesn’t have the leverage to apply that superhuman strength. I duck out of the way of a swinging foot, before grabbing her ankle and pushing it up so that her knee flows into the wall, the concrete locking her leg into a folded position. A quick repetition on the other side, and I step back, looking at my handiwork. A beautifully phat brown ass, shaking and trembling from futile struggling, protrudes from the wall. I let myself into the bathroom – the men’s side, although I wouldn’t have cared if it were the women’s side. Titania stops swearing and glares at me, the twisting of her torso making her meager tits jiggle slightly. “You know, we could have had a lot of fun together,” I state. “If you had let me show you who you were, you would have had a blast.” Strolling over to stand right in front of her, I let my prick bob inches away from Titania’s masked face.  
  
“I can’t be controlled by Master effects, dickhead.” She spits at me. Literally spits, a dollop of saliva lands on my chest. I brush it off casually.  
  
“Oh, is that what I was doing?” I grab her head in both hands and start rubbing my dick on her face, twisting her away whenever she tries to bite me. “And yet, when I let the world know the truth about me….” I grin nastily when I see the dawning horror on her face. “After all… **my dick is irresistible**." I can see her eyes dilate as she bites her lips in need. “And you…. Well, now you’re just a **public cum hole**. A sex toy for anyone who wants it.” I feel the **truth** ripple out into the world, and watch in glee as Titania’s eyes go wide in fear and.. Yes, that’s lust. Perfect.  
  
“Open wide.” I purr, and press the head of my cock against her pillowy lips, before slamming it home, my balls slapping against her chin. They’re as soft and lovely as I thought they would be, and she can’t bring herself to bite down on my irresistible shaft. “That’s nice.” I purr. “You’ve got the best dick-sucking lips I’ve ever tried.” Titania’s tongue thrashes against the base of my dick as she swallows convulsively around my rod, and I frown. “I’m oddly disappointed in your skills, though. It’s obvious that you’ve wasted your natural calling as a **suckslut**.” I wait hopefully, but nothing changes. Damn. In the end, I just use her face as a fuckhole for a couple of minutes before pulling out and cumming explosively, covering her dazed face with a healthy glazing of my seed.  
  
“Are.” Titania rasps. “Are you done?” Her tongue darts out and laps at the trail of jizz dripping down her lip from the side of her nose.  
  
“No.” I say simply, and walk away, leaving the bathroom and walking around to where Titania’s thrashing ass protrudes from the wall. I run a thick finger down her slit – she’s utterly drenched, the little whore – and she nearly melts into my touch. I line up the head of my prick with her strawberry-pink folds and slowly, achingly, push my way inside.  
  
Titania’s cunt is tight as hell. She’s petite, in what I presume is her base form, and even a normal cock would need some time and effort to get all the way inside her, but I am blessed beyond lesser men, my bitch-breaker can fit _anywhere_. If I wanted to, I could have fucked her ear or her nose, or even stuck it up her piss-hole and creampied her bladder, but right now? Right now, I want to fill this little black slut’s cunt with my baby batter. I savor every inch, stretching her quim wider and wider as I go deeper and deeper. I can feel the whore’s moans vibrating through her body as I sink my fingers into her plush hips, gritting my teeth against the sensations of her convulsing vaginal muscles trying to pull me in deeper and deeper. I’m only half-way in before my cock meets an obstruction, and I growl. Fucking _cervix_. “Goddamn shallow bitches.” I grouse, before pulling back my hips and _slamming_ them forward.  
  
Titania screams in pain and lust as my power-enhanced dick plows through her cervix, the thick walls suckling and pulling on the head of my cock as I stroke in and out of her deepest places. “Fuck yes, take it you fucking cunt, take my prick,” I growl, speeding up, each stroke going deeper and louder. She’s creaming, milky slime coating my cock and squelching lewdly with each stroke, her cunt clenching and shuddering around my shaft in orgasm after orgasm until I can’t tell when one stops and another starts. With a final groan, I give her one last powerful thrust, and cum deep inside the heroine’s womb, feeling spurt after spurt of jizz shoot out of my cock like a Super Soaker and _fill_ her, before pulling out once the final dribbles leave my cock. I grin, watching my thick seed slowly dribble out of Titania’s abused cunt, only to jerk away as I feel a hand on my shoulder.  
  
“Hey, man, you done with the cum hole?” The speaker is shorter and less muscular than me, but that’s not saying much, and his crimson spandex and body armor are obviously carefully crafted to be intimidating, yet heroic. The petite woman standing by his side is also wearing a mask over the top half of her face, but her tight grey bodysuit is covered in circuit patterns, and even the obvious plates of body armor can’t conceal her generous curves. She’s standing in a pose of affected disinterest, her eyes concealed by a visor, but something about the set of her mouth… I grin.  
  
“It’s all yours, my friend.” I finish turning, and I can see the moment the new heroine spots my dick from the dropped jaw and slight blush. **Any request I make is perfectly reasonable**. “Hey, cutie, think you could help me clean up a bit?”  
  
As the red-clad hero moves around behind Titania and the heroine drops to her knees in front of me, tongue darting out to lap her teammate’s cream off the cock of her rapist, I cross my hands behind my head and smile happily.  
  
This is the life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventual PRT Ratings: Master 5 Breaker 5 Brute 2
> 
> Brute 2 - Apparently endless endurance and superhuman regenerative capability, healing minor damage in seconds, and crippling wounds in minutes or hours. While he doesn’t exhibit any truly superhuman strength, that means that he can exert the full force of his ridiculously muscular body without stopping, performing feats of strength at the pinnacle of human capability for hours on end. No refractory period. (The PRT Analysis team deeply regrets that they have to include this in the official power rating.)
> 
> Breaker 5 - Manifests in three distinct ways. Can overlay distant space with his extremities, such as hands, feet, tongue, and dick, in such a way that they appear as spectral limbs that mimic his movements at a distance. They can touch and exert force, but cannot be touched in return, and the sensory input is mirrored. Can overlay himself with solid non-living objects, phasing through walls or other objects without damaging himself or the object. Can bring other people or living things with him, and can leave them intersecting the object, which prevents them from moving, but does not harm either the person or the object. Spacial warping allows Brutus to fit himself into places where they would not normally fit, without causing damage. Only seems to work on living humans, but it means that he can actually use his oversized penis on women without physically harming them.
> 
> Master 5 – At a verbal or mental command, Brutus can assign what he calls a ‘truth’ to a human, either himself or others, that generates a memetic master field that makes any direct observer instinctively believe a fact about that person. This can be ignored or rationalized away if the observer is sufficiently cautious, which is easiest if he applies multiple ‘truths’ in short succession while under observation, but can be quite insidious if not noticed. The effect propagates over direct video, but not recordings. He appears to use this as a Stranger ability at times. Brutus can also apply a ‘truth’ as a direct master ability to force a person to take a specific role, to the best of their understanding. Victims of Brutus’s ‘truths’ – both internal and external – report that once the role fades, it seems in retrospect to be an entirely reasonable decision or behavior, and while there is some intellectual revulsion or discomfort, the emotional reaction after the fact is heavily blunted.
> 
> As a note, Brutus was thrown off by Titania’s power, which decreases her mental acuity the larger she gets, so she was already fairly gullible in her amazonian patrol size. His direct commands didn’t actually work, she was just already kinda gullible and a bit of an exhibitionist.
> 
> Protip: When building your Nemisis, it’s best not to tailor them to your rape fantasies.


End file.
